


i can’t say hello to you (and risk another goodbye)

by GlitteryCake



Series: this must be the place (naive melody) [2]
Category: The Good Doctor (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Canon Autistic Character, Episode Tag, F/M, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Spoilers for and up to episode S02E07: Hubert, companion fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitteryCake/pseuds/GlitteryCake
Summary: A rewrite of “this must be the place (naive melody)” from Shaun’s perspective.Lea returns to San Jose. Shaun isn’t sure how he feels about it.Episode tag/missing scenes to expand on the ending scene of episode 2.01, “Hello”, and to give context to what happens in the final scene of the following episode, 2.02, “Middle Ground”.You also need to have seen the seventh episode of Season 2, “Hubert”, as there is a question that remains unanswered before that episode and is spoiled in this story.





	1. oh, we made quite a mess, babe

_There are bags blocking the front of my door again,_ thought Shaun, irritated. _When is Armen going to pick a new tenant to rent Lea’s — no,_ Kenny’s, Shaun corrected himself, _old apartment to?_

He was really getting quite tired of people leaving their bags on the floor in the hall while they inspected the now-empty apartment next door to his. How much longer would this racket and hubbub go on?

He considered addressing his complaints to the landlord in person, but realised it was well after five in the evening — closer to nine, which was rather late for an inspection, he thought — and he was still only one run-in away from Armen evicting him for being a nuisance.

Additionally, the transgression of approaching the grouchy landlord outside of the hours between nine AM and five PM certainly wouldn’t help his cause. He had been expressly forbidden to do so under any circumstances, regardless of how dire they were.

He wasn’t sure if that warning extended to notifying of fire, flood, earthquake or other natural disasters, but he was loathe to test it.

Shaun took some comfort in the fact that if the building were to ever experience an emergency, the automatic alarm and sprinkler systems would give Armen the appropriate warnings and summon the relevant authorities, sparing Shaun that particular task and the eviction that would no doubt follow.

Then, if his expertise as a surgical resident was required, he could simply bypass addressing Armen, and instead offer his assistance to the emergency services personnel directly. He had it all planned out.

Shaun tried to reassure himself that this inconvenience, too, would pass, by reciting facts such as, “This building is in the Silicon Valley. The Silicon Valley is an area with high demand for real estate, relative to the supply of available housing. It is therefore unlikely that it will be much longer until the apartment is let out again.”

It... mostly worked.

If he were honest, the noises next door were another somewhat useful distraction from missing Lea. But it was still too chaotic for his liking.

There was a seemingly endless stream of prospective new tenants, all terribly loud and yammering excitedly to friends on their cell phones about how they couldn’t wait for them to see the place and all the cool restaurants and malls nearby.

Some less mathematically-inclined potential residents inevitably encountered sticker shock when it came to the rental price— _Uh, wait, what? Oh, the rent is_ how _much a week? But I thought that was biweekly? It’s not? Oh. Sorry to have wasted your time, sir —_ and then glumly ending their sycophantic telephone chatter with “I gotta go, fam/bro/sweetie,” _[delete as appropriate]_ “Mmm-hmm, bye-bye now. Yeah, I miss your face too, we have to catch up soon, wine-o-clock, see ya!”

Shaun was lucky to miss quite a few of them given his somewhat haphazard work hours, but he got home early enough some evenings to catch the last few people traipsing in and out in a cacophony of stomping combat boots, clip-clopping stilettos and squeaking sneakers.

And that wasn’t even mentioning what was, in Shaun’s opinion, the very worst of all possible shoe sounds — the _scuff, scuff_ of flip-flops. To Shaun it sounded like the wearer was dragging their feet across the floor. That particular noise was excruciating. He hoped that whoever ended up moving in next door did not like to wear flip-flops.

However, Shaun already had a plan to mitigate that issue, should it arise: he would approach the transgressor with a litany of helpful admonishments and medical research about flip-flops and their lack of arch support contributing to flat feet, as well as their implication in many other podiatric maladies. That information would be likely to resolve the problem. No-one would want a lifetime of foot pain.

He ruffled his hair in annoyance. Bags on the floor were a trip hazard. People were really very inconsiderate to leave them lying around in the hallway. He knew he couldn’t very well refuse to help some foolish Caltech post-grad when they inevitably fell over the obstacle and hit their head. He would be morally — if not legally — bound to render assistance, being the closest person to the scene with comprehensive medical training.

Tonight, however, something about _this_ bag stood out to Shaun. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it, at first. Then he realised that the duffel bag seemed... _familiar_ , somehow.

 _That duffel bag looks like the one I helped Lea pack when she left,_ he mused, extremely frustrated by the step back he had taken in progressing through accepting that it was unlikely he would see her again, at least in the near future.

And then — there weren’t enough toy scalpels in the world to stop it — the thoughts he’d tried so hard to quell the last few months came rushing back in a whirl of sound and colour and “You’re an _asshat_ , Shaun Murphy”, “Tequila, _stat!_ ”, “Triple-A’s, _por favor_ , “What are you smelling right now?” and “Kissmekissmekissme _kissmeShaun..._ ”

He’d thought he’d been doing well distracting himself, diving headfirst into his work, trying to reclaim the hard-won ground he had gained over the first few months of his residency, before the most beautiful girl in the world enticed him to run away with her, snatching away his batteries, and his apples, and his personal rule book, tossing them all over her shoulder into a metaphorical lake.

Sometimes, Shaun felt like _he’d_ been thrown into that very same lake, right along with all his order and rigidity, and the will-o’-the-wisp stood, laughing, on the bank, watching him flail.

But it _couldn’t_ be Lea’s bag, because that didn’t make sense. Lea was not here in San Jose. Lea was in Hershey, and so it logically followed that her duffel bag must be, too.

It was, after all, a mass-produced style. There were probably thousands more like it in the world, all with the same pattern and, in time, faded patches in random places on the fabric where the owner got too fatigued to do anything other than drag the duffel impatiently across a dirty, dusty floor in an airport terminal, or a train station, or a bus depot, slowly building up that unique patina of wear and tear, until the weak spots became holes and the bag eventually thrown out, in favour of another new bag for the owner to mistreat.

However, Shaun was fairly sure this particular duffel bag did not come with a Pittsburgh Penguins iron-on embroidered patch affixed to it as standard, not unless it was some sort of sports merchandise item —

“Aren’t you gonna say ‘hello’?” a bright voice broke into his thoughts, with a slight giggle at the end.

Shaun felt like he’d leaned too far back in his chair, balancing it on two of its legs, that sense of toppling, that sickening swoop in the stomach as your life flashed before your eyes, until you came back up again, and the world no longer wobbled on its axis. He tried not to do that too often — he had treated several injured schoolchildren who had done just that and fallen from their chairs, and the damage could include a concussion, if their tender heads hit a cinder-block classroom wall on the way down.

Shaun would know that voice anywhere. He heard it in his head at many times of the day: first thing in the morning; on his way out to work as he passed her old door; walking to the bus stop; coming home at night; sitting and staring at that treasured baseball, as though it could explain to him why his heart had snapped in two; before going to sleep.

She was everywhere, in everything.

Shaun steeled himself to look straight ahead at Lea, trying hard to meet her eyes, feeling his breath catch as she came more into focus.

Her expression was eager, her smile reaching right up to her eyes — eyes that he didn’t dare to allow to trick him, to hope they might be asking him for — _Ohpleasepleasepleaseaskme... I...LeaLeaLea...anythingI’lldoanything...IwantIwantIwant_ Iwant..., all the bargains he had made with a God he wasn’t always convinced he wanted to believe in, _just once and that’s it I swear,_ just once let me —

There were so many conflicting thoughts swirling around in his head, overwhelming and intrusive, but if he concentrated on finding a calm spot somewhere in that maelstrom, he might be able to...

“Hello,” he finally managed.


	2. it’s probably better off this way

“I’m back,” Lea said.

Shaun didn’t quite know what to do with that information, or how to feel about it. So he settled for a neutral: “I can see that.”

Lea bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, looking apprehensive, and then her next few sentences all came out in a rush.

“Can I please crash with you for a few days?” _Okay._

“I have my trundle in pieces downstairs.” _All right._

“Hershey got kind of ugly.” _What does that mean, Lea? Are you back for good?_

“I had to leave.” _I was the first person you thought of. You came back to me. For me._

“Okay, you can stay with me,” Shaun heard himself say, “I’ll help you with your luggage. Where is it?”

Lea told him her suitcases were in his storage cage downstairs. Shaun reached forward to unlock the door to his apartment and shrugged off his backpack, placing it lightly on the floor in the doorway.

He had never had so many questions to ask one single person in his life. He couldn’t think of which one to ask her first, so he chose to ask none of them. Instead, he trailed behind her to the elevator.

Stealing surreptitious glances at her, standing next to him in the elevator, he noticed the signs of exhaustion written on her face.

Finally, a question he could ask presented itself: “Are you tired? You look tired.” _Why are you here?_

Lea nodded, her brunette curls jumping about her face. “Yeah, it was a long drive. Stopped a few times, but still.”

“Are you hungry or thirsty?” Shaun pressed her. _Those are problems I can solve._

Lea replied in the negative, claiming she’d had McDonald’s for dinner not so long ago.

 _But that isn’t enough food,_ Shaun thought. He felt the need to inform her of the lack of nutrients in fast food.

He saw her smile fade, to be replaced by a glare and narrowed eyes, as she reminded him that she was an adult and could certainly have takeout for dinner, if she wanted to.

Shaun appreciated that it was her decision, but offered to fix her something regardless.

He knew he had no hope of fixing whatever had gone wrong in Hershey, but he could at least feed her something decent for dinner and offer her a drink.

The elevator let them out at the parking garage level. Shaun followed Lea to his storage cage, where the bags and trundle bed sat waiting.

Grateful to have a task to keep him busy, he set about retrieving Lea’s suitcases and her bed, as well as another duffel bag, this one a lot bigger than the one upstairs.

Wordlessly, Shaun handed her the large duffel, his fingertips brushing hers. He nearly jumped at the sensation.

He’d thought his world would turn the right way up if she came back, but he was starting to realise that it was doing somersaults instead.

Lea offered her assistance to share the load of the bags, but, irritated, Shaun shook her off, determined to roll them by himself. Maybe then he would have something to concentrate on, instead of just the electric shock-like sensation he felt when their hands brushed.

Shaun could not find it within himself to even look Lea directly in the face, no matter how much he might have wanted to.

He was totally adrift.

Finally, mercifully, the elevator came back down to the garage level. Shaun gestured for Lea to get in, and rolled all her bags in after her. The doors closed behind him.

He didn’t know Lea exceptionally well, but he knew instinctively when someone wanted to talk to him, yet felt that they couldn’t.

He knew the signs of edginess and hesitation when patients felt they couldn’t say what they needed to say — when they didn’t feel safe opening up to ‘Dr. Murphy’.

However, Shaun also knew enough to recognise that Lea didn’t want to talk to ‘Dr. Murphy’. She wanted to talk to _Shaun_.

The problem was, he had absolutely no idea how to let Lea do that anymore. On reflection... maybe he’d never known how, in the first place.

It was emotionally safer for him if he could detach.

‘Dr. Murphy’ knew how to do that.

Shaun Murphy, on the other hand... felt like maybe he’d known how to do that, once, a lifetime ago. Possibly.

His life to this point had been divided into pairs of timelines. Mirror images of other people he had been, and other people he had become; sometimes by choice, sometimes the product of happenstance, sometimes just to survive.

Parents. No parents.

Bunny. No bunny.

Steve. No Steve.

No passion for medicine. Devoting his life to studying it.

No Dr. Glassman. Life with Dr. Glassman in it.

Lea, in contrast... had been an indivisible set of events.

There had been life before her, then life with her, then life without her. A prime number of circumstances. A past, a present, and a future.

And now — well, now — there was going to be... what? Life with her, once again? Was Lea a binary concept of _with_ or with _out_? Before or after?

Was she just nothing and everything, all at once?

Shaun had not — could not have — accounted for this. He had grieved the loss of an almost something. And was it still an ‘almost something’, if it came back? Was it then a ‘something’? Who decided these things?

The overwhelming fact that Shaun accepted was that if he couldn’t do that, if he couldn’t separate the two, the everything he was, into something Lea could cope with — well, it was best to be nothing at all instead.

It would hurt everyone less.

The elevator reached Shaun’s floor and the doors slid open. Shaun steered the suitcases and bags into his open apartment, Lea following behind. He held the door open for her.

She ducked under his arm and cast her gaze around to find a place to put her remaining bag.

“Blankets are in the linen closet, if you need more; there’s also a spare pillow. Help yourself. I’m going to fix myself some dinner. Are you sure you wouldn’t like any?” Shaun said all of this in a monotone.

He just — kind of wanted to put his feelings away for a while. They were bubbling up inside, like a pot ready to boil over and Shaun knew the contents of that pot would burn whoever — _what_ ever — they touched.

And there were _just so many of them_. Shaun almost felt queasy, like he’d done a line of tequila shots without pausing in between.

“Are you gonna let me go without having any of it?” Lea asked, and Shaun could tell that she was trying to lighten the mood a little.

There was only one thing he could think of to say to that. But it would not — in _no_ way — do anything to lighten the mood.

And he couldn’t look at Lea when he said it, because he knew it would hurt her to hear it.

Because it was the only thing that he could think of to say, that would sum up all his complicated emotions in one fell swoop.

“I have already let you go,” he said, finally.

When he spoke his feelings aloud, at last, Shaun immediately felt an almost irresistible urge to put his hands over his face like a frightened child might, peeking at Lea through the spaces between his fingers.

He knew what he’d said would hurt her. And that it would hurt him, too.

But, perhaps strangely, he also felt calm. In control. Powerful, even.

In short, Shaun felt a weight fall off his shoulders.

He’d been honest with Lea. For once.

For months and months, all the way up to now, he had taken a back seat and just... let Lea happen _to_ him.

Whatever that revelation ended up costing him tonight, at least she knew the truth.


	3. i bet you think i either moved on or hate you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was rereading this draft and I realised, with a few little tweaks, I had chapter three already written. And then I just, like... was absorbed into the Borg that is my main story.

Shaun hardly dared to look at Lea, in case his confession had brought on tears, or something else he wasn’t able to face up to.

But finally, a tiny sliver of courage returned, and Shaun seized it with grateful hands.

As he looked up slowly, he saw Lea’s hand fly up to cover her mouth in shock, and her eyes were wide open with surprise. He felt a pang of guilt at seeing her so vulnerable and hurt.

But not enough to deny that he’d meant what he’d said. That there was no other, better, softer way of putting it.

“What’s wrong, Shaun?” Lea said, breaking the silence. “I thought you’d be happy to see me, but I’m getting the distinct impression you’d rather I wasn’t here at all.”

_Yes, you’re right._

_No, you’re wrong._

_You said it, I didn’t._

Shaun considered all his possible rebuttals to that accusation, and finally replied, “That’s not true. I’m happy to see you. I didn’t expect to see you again.” _That’s..._ part _of the truth._

Lea’s face twisted with anger. “Well, do you think you could at least act like it, then?”

“I don’t know what to say to you about that,” Shaun answered, trying to keep his face impassive. _And that, Lea,_ is _the complete truth._

Lea mumbled something about setting up her bed, and Shaun turned towards his pantry instead, looking for macaroni, cheese, and a distraction.

He busied himself with the task of cooking dinner, doubling ingredients in case Lea changed her mind about eating. As long as he didn’t have to look at Lea’s wounded expression, he could concentrate.

Shaun heard Lea put down the Allen key she’d been reassembling her trundle with, and it made a clinking sound as it touched the floor.

He also heard, but didn’t see, Lea get up and take a seat at his kitchen counter. But he could feel her eyes boring holes through his button-down.

“So, how was your day?” Lea began.

Without turning around to answer, Shaun spoke mostly to the pot of bubbling mac and cheese on his stove. It was a mix of being unable to meet her eyes, and fear at what he might find in them, if he bothered to look.

“It was Jared’s last day today. He’s going to work in Denver. I went and saw Dr. Glassman after that. He has brain cancer. He’ll be having surgery soon.”

“Oh, my God!” Lea exclaimed, “That’s awful about Glassy. Are _you_ okay?”

 _No. I’m not._ “Yes, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one having brain surgery. Dr. Glassman is,” Shaun replied. _Stir again, let it bubble,_ he recited, methodically, in his head.

“Well, yeah, of course, but you and Glassy are pretty close. You must be worried about him, right?” Lea pressed him.

Without anything else to do in the kitchen for the moment, no busywork to occupy his hands and mind, Shaun resigned himself to turning off the stove, and turning – reluctantly – to face Lea.

“It’s operable,” he said, at last. “He has a very good oncologist.”

“He has a very good friend, too,” Lea said, gently.

“Yes. Dr. Glassman is my friend,” Shaun responded affirmatively.

“I’m _your_ friend too, Shaun,” Lea said, her voice quiet.

Lea and _quiet_? Shaun couldn’t even begin to reconcile the two concepts. If he had to explain Lea, outline her personality with a list of adjectives, he’d pick about a _million_ other descriptors before he got anywhere near using the word ‘quiet’.

“You were. But then you went to Hershey,” he reminded her.

Shaun heard Lea heave a sigh and reply, sounding tired, “That’s – not how friendship works, Shaun. Just because I wasn’t here doesn’t mean I wasn’t still your friend. I didn’t stop being your friend ‘cause I went to Hershey.”

“You weren’t here,” Shaun said again. _Why can’t she grasp this concept?_ he thought, frustrated.

“I didn’t stop being your friend,” Lea argued again.

 _Yes, you did, when you let me think that we could be so much more than that,_ Shaun thought, but he made every effort he could to tamp that rather entitled train of thought right down.

He knew – and Claire’s painfully recent account of the sexual harassment she’d suffered, at the hands of Dr. Coyle, served as a starkly topical reminder of this fact – that Lea _owed_ him absolutely nothing, and had promised him absolutely nothing, either, except for granting him temporary custody of a long-treasured baseball – ‘ _Remember, I said_ _borrow’_ , she’d told him. So had _that_ been a promise that she’d come back for it?

Perhaps.

But Lea had never promised him friendship. Nor a romance.

Not even —

Love.

 _But..._ the other side of his mind argued rationally, _That means that_ you _don’t owe Lea anything, either._

Logical thinking didn’t quite stop him feeling at least a little bit resentful about watching her flit carelessly back into his life like a frantic, directionless hummingbird, though.

The problem was, the space Shaun had carved out in his life – and if he were honest, his heart – for Lea, had gradually shrunk into a smaller size the longer she had been gone.

It was possibly a hard fact, now, that he could not fit this earthquake of a woman into that space all over again. It was too small to contain her and everything she came bundled with.

The space where Lea used to be had been gradually boarded up over the days, weeks, and months that she wasn’t there.

Shaun could sometimes even fool himself into thinking the space was all papered over, no longer visible.

But it would only take one well-aimed punch to expose the still-gaping hole hidden there, raw and open, just behind the flimsy wallpaper.


End file.
